


we'll meet at the station

by winnifred_wilde



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marauders (Harry Potter) - Fandom
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Death, F/M, Gen, Long, M/M, Marauders, Multi, Other, POV Alternating, Post-First War with Voldemort, Post-Marauders Era (Harry Potter), character death in the way there are character deaths in the good place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29933223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winnifred_wilde/pseuds/winnifred_wilde
Summary: James and Lily are dead.Now, as they’re reunited in the afterlife, they must grieve the future they’ll never have, and watch their son grow up from a far.Remus and Sirius are alive.Their lives won’t be easy. Everything changed in an instant, and now they’re forced to mourn not only their best friends, but each other.Told from five alternating POVs, “we’ll meet at the station” spans from Halloween night 1981, to the aftermath of the second wizarding war. See the story we all know and love, told through the eyes of the living (Remus and Sirius), and the dead (James, Lily and Regulus).James Potter died at exactly 11:25pm, Wednesday, October 31st, 1981.Given the circumstances, he had always imagined that death would be extremely painful, and yet, here he was. It had been nothing more than a knock at the door, a flash of green light, and the sudden feeling of being pulled underwater.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Marauders & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 28
Kudos: 149





	we'll meet at the station

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday Remus! 
> 
> Thank you to my amazing beta readers! : )
> 
> WARNING: This chapter deals with some pretty heavy stuff (including suicidal ideation and lots of talk about death). Please be kind to yourself! Your mental health is worth more then any fanfiction.

**James Potter died at exactly 11:25pm, Wednesday, October 31st, 1981.**

Given the circumstances, he had always imagined that death would be extremely painful, and yet, here he was. It had been nothing more than a knock at the door, a flash of green light, and the sudden feeling of being pulled underwater. Only to be pushed out again into the bright, busy train station. He had momentarily felt like he was drowning, but the feeling disappeared as quickly as it had come.

The previous week had been agonizing. It had been lonely, and he often spent the nights awake, staring at the ceiling, and worrying about the war. For years, James had been in the center of it all, but now, for the first time in a long time, there was nothing he could do. He simply had to sit and wait for things to blow over. The separation from it all is what made James so unbelievably uneasily. He lived in constant fear that he was missing something important, though Lily was usually quick to remind him that they had not been cut off completely from the wizarding world.

_They still had Peter._

The round faced man would stop by every few days for a visit, usually just to check and make sure they were still there. Occasionally he would bring fresh groceries or drop off the last few editions of the daily the prophet. Peter was their secret keeper after all, and they weren’t going to let his knowledge of where they were go to waste. Lily would always try to convince him to stay for dinner, but he rarely agreed. Peter had always been the most worrisome of the Marauders, so his nervous tics and stuttered words were far from out of the ordinary. He would politely turn them down, claiming that he wanted to go have dinner with his mum. He worried about her.

Often when Peter was around, James felt as if the man was dancing around certain topics, but then again, weren’t they all? Joining the war had seemed like the start of some great adventure in their school days. None of the marauders had expected to watch the light flicker out behind each of their eyes. They all seemed to smile less. Laugh less. Love less.

By midnight, November 1st, 1981, James would realize how foolish it had been for him to ignore the uneasy feeling he had in his gut. It had been foolish to assume the knock at the door so late at night had been Peter simply stopping by for another visit. It had been foolish to leave his wand on the table, because as far as he was concerned, the door would open to reveal a friend. James had no reason to believe that Peter Pettigrew would ever be anything other than a friend.

The war had changed James in unimaginable ways, and yet its inability to stomp out his trust for those he loved, was what finally got him in the end. It was as if fighting altered him in all the wrong ways. He was less playful. He had less of a spark. He was slower to smile. Trust was all James Potter had left, and that trust is what led him to his demise.

Each day, James was more and more grateful for Lily. While he could see the effect of the war in her tired eyes and the wrinkles already forming on her forehead, Lily never ceased to shine. She was the human embodiment of joy and light and love. She was the perfect wife and the perfect mother. James was convinced she had been born into this world loving. It was a shame she would leave this world so soon, the same way.

\--------------------------

******Lily Potter died at exactly 11:31pm, Wednesday, October 31st, 1981** ** **

When Lily was six years old, her grandmother had died, and in an attempt to make her feel better, her mother had described death as a bright light. Even when she was younger, Lily had never believed it. Once she joined the war, death had shifted from the inevitable peace at the end of a lifetime, to the quick agonizing halt of a future that would never come. Death was not an old friend at the end of a tunnel. Death was selfish. Death found great joy in letting the good be taken by the hands of the evil. It did not care who you were. It would always have you all in the end.

Despite all of this, Lily was now surrounded by _light_. A light as bright as her mother had always described it.

The train station was busy. There were the elderly, who looked content at the life they led, though of course, not everyone had that luxury. There were those with tired eyes and thin frames. Those with bodies contorted by sickness. Those with a little too much light left behind their eyes to seem like they truly belonged there.

Lily was surrounded by lives that were cut short, and as much as she wished it would make her uneasy, nothing could drown out the overwhelming anxiety she felt in chest. Not for the loss of her own life. Not for her own future cut short. But for the fate of her son.

Halloween, 1981, had been one of the most pleasant days Lily had had in a long time. She had slept until noon, and woke to Harry’s laughter in the kitchen as James tried to make pancakes. He always got distracted playing with their son, forgetting about the batter, and letting the pancakes burn on the griddle. Lily never cared. She had ruffled his hair and hoisted Harry into her arms, swinging him around the kitchen and humming an old nursery rhyme.

A mere 1,838 days ago, Lily had been unable to tolerate the boy with messy hair and broken glasses. All these years later, she couldn’t help but admire how much James Potter had grown. He was a good man, a good husband, and a fantastic father. He had learned when to stop pushing the people around him. He had learned to be the bigger person, but at the same time, he never lost his childlike sense of wonder. The war slowed him down, lessened his spark, but it never fully disappeared.

It could be seen in how proud he was each time he made Lily tea in the morning, despite making it just the way she liked it for years now. Or how he personally named each of Harry’s stuffed animals. Or how he stuck out his tongue in concentration while coloring with their son, always hanging their finished creations right next to each other on the refrigerator. James Potter was the type of person to find joy in the simplest of things. He made Lily better. He helped her relax, take life in her stride, and truly believe that a person could survive on nothing more than their love for those around them. It was a foolish thing to believe, but being with James had taught Lily that it was okay to be a little foolish.

She would never admit it, but sometimes being in hiding was almost enjoyable. They had nothing to do but spend time with each other. No missions, no deaths, no flashes of green light. Sometimes, on mornings like this, it was too easy to forget that they were fighting in a war. For a few moments, Lily could pretend they were nothing more than husband, wife and child, living a peaceful, domestic life. Lily could get lost in the laughter of the mornings and the smell of pancakes and imagine that life would always be nursery rhymes and wiping syrup off Harry’s sticky hands.

She often felt guilty for mornings like that. What right did she have to _play house_ while her friends were out risking their lives? It seemed unfair.

But of course, _Lily was dead._

Perhaps she deserved a few good mornings to make up for all of the ones that have been lost. Maybe dying at the end of a long peaceful day had been a gift within itself.

Lily hoped that when those closest to her died, it would be in the least painful way possible. Death had always seemed like something they would be able to outrun. They had all truly believed that they would make it. Lily knew better now. Perhaps it was a thought caused by the aftermath of her own life cut short, but the untimely deaths of everyone she cared about seemed almost inevitable. She just hoped that when the time came, it would be quick. Lily chose not to imagine a death so stretched out and agonizing, but perhaps her ability to ignore a fate like that was, yet again, a gift within itself. Not everyone was so lucky.

\--------------------------

**********Regulus Black died at exactly 4:28pm, Thursday, June 28th, 1979** ** ** ** **

Regulus had made a habit of imagining death from a very young age. He would imagine what it would feel like to be hit by a killing curse. He imagined falling off his broom. Being poisoned. Being stabbed. Being strangled. He was a child who felt great comfort in the possibility of an end. Even if it wasn’t something he actively wished for himself, he knew it would come. It always does.

Regulus had always believed that the mind would be the first to go. Conciseness, after all, was what truly made you who you were. He would be gone long before his body took its final breath. He never believed he would have to feel himself die.

_Regulus Black had been wrong. He felt everything._

He was perhaps, equally as wrong when it came to the fate of those who passed. No matter the bitter end he assigned himself in his fantasies, after death, Regulus believed there would be nothing. He would simply disappear. A long, resentful fall into unending nothingness.

He was almost disappointed when he woke up in Kings Cross Station. Death had not been the ultimate end he had hoped for, but he could not escape death any more than the living could. So he waited. He watched. And he prepared for a reunion he knew was soon to come.

\--------------------------

**************Sirius Black had exactly 5,341 days left to live. It was Saturday, November 3rd, 1981** ** ** ** ** ** **

Sirius was not the type of person to worry about death. Instead, he spent as much time as possible, trying to _live_. It was in his moments of recklessness and spontaneity that he truly felt alive. It could be seen in the way he pushed his parents, refusing to conform, no matter how sharp the repercussions were. It could be seen in the thrill he felt pulling pranks in his childhood, believing he was doing something great leaving a legacy behind. It could be seen in the way he fell in love. Quickly and passionately, with little regard for those who would never understand.

It was clear that joining the war was simply an extension of that childlike search for a thrill. Sirius had never been able to outgrow that phase, but then again, the isolation that was soon to come didn’t give him much of a chance to grow at all.

On November 3rd, 1975, Sirius had turned sixteen. James had cast a spell causing birthday candles to appear on every plate of food in the great hall (aside from Snape’s of course), and led the whole school in sixteen rounds of Happy Birthday, with an extra just for luck. The marauders had spent the morning running around the school, throwing dungbombs at unsuspecting students and clogging the sinks in the second floors girls' lavatory. After lunch, James had taken him to the quidditch pitch, and they’d flown for hours, trying to see who could dive closest to the ground, before swooping upwards at the last moment. The night had ended with enough sweets to feed a small village, a hand on his knee, and a vicious game of exploding snap.

It had been exactly 2,192 days since Sirius Black had turned sixteen. All those years ago, his birthday had been filled with laughter and indescribable joy, but now, as he turned twenty-two, the laughter was replaced by grief, and a loneliness that could cut like a knife. This was not the birthday he had hoped for, and as he sat there, alone in his cell, mourning his best friend and the future that had been taken from him, it occurred to Sirius that James would never have a twenty-second birthday.

Survival no longer seemed like something he could rely on. He regretted being so reckless. He regretted letting his thirst for adventure blind him to how much the stakes had risen. He regretted not giving up on his search for a thrill all those years ago, when all he had needed was a few dungbombs and a hand on his knee.

\--------------------------

******************Remus Lupin had exactly 6,024 days left to live. It was Saturday, November 3rd, 1981** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

It must have been very difficult for Remus's mother to sit him down at age five, and explain that he could be the cause of someone's death. He had been taught he would tear people to shreds, and when he woke in the morning, frightened and alone, it wouldn’t matter that he was nothing more than a tired little boy. In the world's eyes, he would always be a monster.

It had never been a matter of _if_ Remus would hurt someone, it had always been a question of _when,_ and throughout the course of his life, there were many moments he had truly believed the worst was about to happen.

Exactly 3,713 days ago, Remus had prepared for his first full moon at Hogwarts. He remembered entering the shack for the first time, staring at the peeling wallpaper and broken floorboards. At the time, the room had seemed dingy, but as the years went on, it became almost hazardous. He tore that room apart. Remus remembered his fear that something would go wrong, and the pain of transforming, huddled in the back corner of the room. The next morning, he was met with worried looks and questions he wouldn’t be able to answer. No one had gotten hurt, and as far as Remus knew, no one, aside from his fellow marauders, had any reason to suspect that something was wrong.

A mere 1,476 days later, Remus transformed as three other boys sat across from him. It was perhaps the most dangerous thing he had ever done, and despite his pleading, the other marauders insisted he let them sit there and watch. No one had ever done something like this for him before. They had broken laws, risked their lives, and performed some of the most advanced magic in the wizarding world, just so Remus wouldn’t have to be alone. They were too righteous for their own good, and Remus had been convinced it would get them killed.

He had been right of course, but they didn't die in the way he had predicted.

If only things had played out differently.

8 days later, Remus would be reminded of what full moons had been like in his childhood. Once again, he was alone. And as the moon rose over the horizon, he felt a pain matched only by the grief he felt for those he had lost.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I've created a playlist that goes along with this chapter. All the songs, as well as their corresponding sections are are listed below! : ) 
> 
> **“In A Week” - Hozier**  
>  _“Halloween, 1981 had been one of the most pleasant days Lily had had in a long time.”_
> 
> **“12 Dance Tae Yer Daddie” - A Scottish Children's Song**  
>  _“She had ruffled his hair and hoisted Harry into her arms, swinging him around the kitchen and humming an old nursery rhyme.”_
> 
> **“Arsonist's Lullaby” - Hozier**  
>  _“Regulus had made a habit of imagining death from a very young age.”_


End file.
